I'm Fine (Except When I'm Not)
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: He'd fine. Really. Except he's really, really not. (TW, PTSD, Nightmares and mentioned alcohol abuse).


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise. **

**Challenges listed at the bottom. **

**Word Count - **2043

_Written for Abs, for GGE. I'm sorry this is so late but… better late than never, right? I hope you like it :D _

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**I'm Fine (Except When I'm Not) **

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"_I'm fine." _

_Those words were coming back to bite him on the ass because Tony was decidedly not fine. He tried to pretend that he was, of course he did, it was who he was, but he really, really, wasn't fine. _

_Not really. _

…

Pepper thought he was fine. He smiled for her, and bitched to her about paperwork and board meetings. He quipped and snarked his way through conversation for her because she deserved nothing less than him to be fine, so she didn't have to worry about him. She was already running his company for him, he couldn't expect anything more from her.

Rhodey thought he was fine. Tony fixed up War Machine for him whenever he stopped by, and they talked engineering, and Air Force, and Avengers, and Tony got drunk with him and he forced himself to _not cry _when Rhodey asked him how he was doing with the Avengers. Rhodey had his own life to worry about, and his job which was most certainly _more important _than Tony.

Clint and Natasha thought he was fine. He traded barbs with Clint whenever the two crossed paths in the hallways or the communal parts of the tower, talked to him about new designs for arrows and occasionally joined him for a Mario Carts battle on the sofa. He improved Nat's Widow Bites, and sparred with her sometimes, letting her teach him more and better hand to hand because she was worried that one day the suit would be compromised.

She was worried about filling in the paperwork of a Tony Stark shaped splat on the sidewalk, she said.

Bruce thought he was fine. They scienced together and it was glorious, and sometimes, Tony could fool himself that he was actually fine when he was with Bruce, because the man just _got him. _Sometimes, Tony could pretend for a few hours that he wasn't such a mess, and he could never thank Bruce enough for that.

Not that he tried, but sometimes, he thought maybe Bruce got that, too.

Thor thought he was fine too, though Tony wasn't sure the demi-god was around enough to know the difference. Sure, he showed up when they fought, and he spent the odd off evening with the team, but Thor spent much of his time on Earth in New Mexico, loved up with Jane.

Tony wouldn't begrudge him that, of course; he was happy for his teammate, and he was old enough to push aside the envy that Thor had someone to go to when he was having a bad day.

Steve… Steve was different. Tony thought that maybe Steve knew that Tony wasn't fine. Occasionally, there would be a look in Steve's eyes that said he knew exactly how much of a mess Tony was.

Occasionally, there was an aborted movement to reach out and grip his shoulder, or squeeze his hand, or offer a comfort that he wasn't sure was welcome.

Tony didn't know how to tell him it was welcome when a large part of him thought it wasn't welcome at all. He didn't need comfort because he was fine even though he wasn't because showing weakness to the Super Soldier his father had adored was too much for Tony's brain to deal with.

So Tony did what he did best. He pretended he was fine. He pretended he didn't see the concern in Steve's eyes, or the aborted movements.

He pretended until he couldn't pretend anymore.

…

"_I'm fine." _

_Water poured into the crack in the suit and Tony really wasn't fine. He told the team that he was okay, he could wait for them to find him because he was fine but he really wasn't because the cave and the battery and there was too much water and— _

"_Tony?" _

…

"Tony?"

Tony flinched, looking up to see Steve standing in the doorway, a frown crinkling the skin above his eyes. Tony cursed internally, because what the hell was Steve even doing awake, it was the middle of the goddamn night!

"Hey," he replied, trying to force calm into his voice. The single word came out shaky, and he cursed his own control, or lack thereof, because he was supposed to be better at pretending than this.

"Are you… okay?"

"I'm fine."

The words fell from his lips automatically, because he was always fine, right? Steve stepped closer, slowly, until he was standing right beside Tony. He pointed at the sofa.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"Fill your boots, Cap."

That was better. Less shaky at least.

"I didn't expect anyone else to be awake," Steve said quietly as he sat down, tugging a blanket from the back of the sofa. Only when he was seated did Tony notice the minute tremble running through his body.

"You know me, Cap. Insomnia is my happy place."

Steve nodded slowly. "I, uh. Do you mind if we have JARVIS turn the heat up a little bit?"

"Whatever you want, Steve," Tony replied. He stared at the other man for a moment. The tremble running through him, the haunted look in his eyes, the dampness to his hair that Tony was fairly sure wasn't from a recent shower. He knew those signs intimately. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Steve shook his head mutely. Tony leant a little closer and turned his attention back to the tv. He hadn't been paying any attention to it before, but now he realised JARVIS had been playing infomercials for him, a staple of nightmare aftermath.

"Why would someone need one of those?" Steve asked, fifteen minutes later.

Tony blinked. He'd been drifting, oddly settled now that he knew Steve was sitting right beside him, huddled beneath a blanket. He looked at the tv and snorted as the man on the screen exclaimed with far too much excitement about a mop with about fifteen different attachments.

"You mean you've never wanted a multi-use mop, Steve? Call yourself an American!"

Steve chuckled. A few minutes later he spoke softly, his words hesitant. "You know you can come to me right? With… anything?"

It was on the tip of Tony's tongue to tell Steve that he didn't need anything because he was _fine. _

Instead, thinking about the way he'd settled when Steve sat beside him, Tony nodded slowly. "Yeah, I… I know that. Thanks."

Steve nodded back and shifted on the sofa, so his legs were brushing Tony's thigh on the middle cushion. Tony didn't move.

…

"_Bloody hell, not again." _

_Aliens were pouring in through a wormhole. They were blue, carrying axes and looked nothing like the Chitauri. And yet. _

"_Iron Man? Iron Man, are you okay?" _

_Tony swallowed hard and forced himself to engage his thrusters. _

"_I'm fine." _

…

The bottle of scotch was disappointingly empty. Tony thought about making his way up to the communal floor where he had many full bottles of alcohol, but his legs were not supporting his desires.

It was possible that he'd already had too much, but he could still see the wormhole in his mind, could still see the vast space above Earth that he'd never needed to know about, and it was possible he hadn't had even close to enough.

"Tony?"

Tony blinked. "How'd you get in here?" he slurred, when Steve came into focus.

"JARVIS was worried about the amount of scotch you'd consumed," Steve admitted. "He let me in."

Tony rolled his eyes. "M'fine."

"Uh huh. You want some help getting up off the floor?"

Only then did Tony realise he was practically sprawled across the floor, only his head up, propped against the sofa leg.

"I… am fine right here," he decided, as though he was there on purpose. Never mind that he had no memory of actually, you know, getting onto the floor in the first place.

"Sure you are," Steve agreed, crossing the room. He lifted Tony easily, and put him down on the sofa, tilting him back carefully against the worn cushions. "That'll be more comfortable though."

"I mean, sure. Nothing wrong with the floor though, you know? The floor is awesome, Steve."

"The floor is brilliant," Steve replied. "I'm going to get you some water, okay? And a bucket."

He disappeared from Tony's vision, and turning his head seemed like a lot of effort, so Tony just stared up at the ceiling, waiting.

What he was waiting for, he wasn't sure, but staring at the ceiling was better than closing his eyes and seeing the wormhole so…

He still needed more scotch.

"Steve," he whined. "Steve, I need scotch. It's on the bar. In the bar. Upstairs. I need it."

"You don't," Steve replied, from somewhere across the room. "You need water, and sleep."

"Noooo, no, no I do not," Tony argued, shaking his head. The movement made him feel sick, so he didn't do it for long, but he figured he'd made his point. Sleep was absolutely not on the cards.

Steve reappeared with a glass of water, and he held it against Tony's lip until the genius begrudgingly took a sip of it. It was cold, and actually tasted really good.

Not that he was going to tell Steve that.

Steve sat down on the end of the sofa and lifted Tony's legs into his lap.

"What are you doing?" Tony asked, turning his head to the side.

"I'm going to stay right here," Steve murmured, his hand stroking up and down Tony's calve, digging into the muscle occasionally. "While you sleep. And if you wake up, then I'll be right here, okay?"

"I'm.. I don't—"

"Tony. I'll be _right _here."

Tony opened his mouth to tell Steve that he didn't need babysitting, but he couldn't bring himself to actually say it. The thought of waking up, gasping for air, sweating and shaking and scared… it was made just a little bit less scary when he knew that Steve would be right there with him.

…

"_Tony?" _

"_I… I'm not fine. I'm really, really not fine." _

"_I know. Come here." _

…

"Is this a private party or can anyone join?" Clint asked as he walked into the communal living room. It was arse o'clock, and his hair was sleep mussed, his clothes crumpled and his eyes haunted. Tony shifted closer to Steve, though there hadn't been much space between them to begin with, and nodded to the spare bit of couch.

"Sit your ass down. We're debating the merits of a paintbrush that holds paint."

Clint looked at the infomercial on the screen and snorted, slumping down beside Tony.

It happened quite often these days. Even since Steve, determination in his eyes, had pulled Tony into a cuddle and told him it was okay to not be okay, that they all had to deal with things, and that it wasn't a weakness to need help occasionally, Tony and Steve would often be found curled up together in the living room.

Clint joined them when Loki invaded his dreams, Nat when a memory from her childhood haunted her, Bruce when the loneliness threatened to overwhelm him, Thor when he missed home.

No matter who was there, infomercials would play on the tv, and they'd argue about if whatever was being sold was worth buying.

So far, Tony had convinced both Clint and Thor that they needed _snuggies, _and there was a _magic bullet food processor _sitting in the kitchen beside the microwave.

It wasn't perfect, because perfect would mean they were all sleeping comfortably in their beds, with no nightmares to plague them, but it was what they had, and it was more than Tony had ever hoped for.

All because Steve had reached out a hand to Tony and waited patiently for him to take the offered comfort.

All because Steve hadn't been ashamed to admit when he wasn't okay, when memories from his life before the ice made him wish he'd never been unfrozen.

Tony pressed his face against Steve's collarbone and smiled when the taller man rested his own head against the top of Tony's.

And despite the nightmares that had pushed Tony into the living room that very night, he was actually… he was fine. More than he'd been for a really long time.

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**Written for: **

Disney - S5. Strange Sight - Write about reaching out to something or someone.

Showtime - 3. My Shot: (emotion) determined

Basement - 12. Pretty Little Liars - Write about a lie coming back to haunt you.

365 - 290. Collarbone


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